


you’re the only motherfucker in this city who can handle me

by girljustdied



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girljustdied/pseuds/girljustdied
Summary: blair and dan make it to amagansett.





	you’re the only motherfucker in this city who can handle me

**Author's Note:**

> circa "yes, then zero." louis doesn't show up in time.  
> prompts were "ache," "driver," "frown," "private," "tights."

Amagansett in late September is empty summer homes, ocean water impervious to the sun’s warming touch, and half the local fare already shuttered for the off-season. It’s Dan and Blair in itchy cardigans from Cece’s closet because they hadn’t thought to bring anything to wear. 

Only once had he asked what they were doing there. Idling in the Rhodes’ driveway, the concept of turning off the car after the two hour drive quite suddenly felt perilous. 

“If you really want to hide away from everything, it just seems like Serena and sunny southern California would be a much more agreeable option.”

She’d frowned with displeasure, still wearing the gown she’d come to his loft in. “Serena isn’t exactly one to keep a low profile, now is she?”

They’d left it at that. Perhaps it was on him for not asking the right question.

The beach home is large enough that they could easily pass the time without catching a glimpse of one another. In his stay there over the summer, it had felt cavernous, busy with a world of guests and staff. With only Blair as company, the space narrows into the single rooms they share. 

Still, he cannot help himself: “You know, this is why France revolted.” His pointed gaze on the height of the ceilings, the art, the waves outside a wall of windows cresting, collapsing on the shore, and pulling back out to begin again.

“Don’t be absurd,” she replies. “Have you even ever been to Versailles, Humphrey?”

He hasn’t. “No.”

“Well, let’s just say that this place is a matchbox with a view compared to that kind of wealth.” She quiets for a moment, then performs a heavy sigh, “I cannot believe what I’m giving up.”

She isn’t talking about the prince she’d impulsively broken it off with. She’s talking about the life of extreme wealth and power that he would have afforded her. It assuages Dan’s guilt regarding his part in the collapse of her engagement. Allows him to be kind where he might have been disdainful. “It wasn’t yours. Not yet.”

“And now, never.” She hands a bottle of Bordeaux to him to open as if he is the help. “Thanks for the reminder.”

When he pours a glass for her, she holds it by the stem but does not drink. 

She reads _Blue Nights_ in the den with the fireplace and the small Dürer. He reads _The Marriage Plot_ , of which she is needlessly contemptuous. The leaked chapter from his book is not released and he is thankful. Unwilling to explain the situation to Blair, and repeatedly envisioning what the reception of his work might have been like, but grateful. He spreads Nutella on stale pieces of toast and shares it with her in the mornings.

“People think that we ran away together,” she states, brushing away a crumb from the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin.

“Well, we did, didn’t we?” It is the closest they have come to discussing this. He feels obvious. 

Blair scowls, eyes bright with the promise of a good barb, “I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth.”

“Really?” he challenges. “The mere idea is that repulsive to you?”

“It’s certainly not appealing.” 

On the tip of his tongue: _Then what exactly are we doing here, Blair?_ Lets her words grow sour between them instead, the only sounds in the room the crunching of toast and the rustling of a local newspaper he’d found tossed on the doorstep. He reads one page, two— 

“Humphrey?”

His eyes dart up to meet hers immediately. 

“Pass the blueberries.”

It’s an affront that he weathers with ease, “Hmm?”

She gestures towards the bowl of fruit near his elbow over the large dining room table they occupy only a corner of. “The blueberries.”

He chuckles, and eats a berry himself, “The what?”

Her narrowed gaze and pursed lips refuse to afford him a simple “please.” It occurs to him that if he was in a different frame of mind that this behavior from her would feel charming, even flirtatious. Makes him doubt his own mind.

“You know, I thought we were past that sort of thing.” He frowns. Can feel the way it makes his brow furrow. “I mean, aren’t we?”

It’s her turn to play dumb. “Past what?”

He hands her the bowl as he stands to gather up the remaining empty dishes to bring to the kitchen. Shouts over his shoulder, the childish words echoing through the house as he does so, “Dear Dan, I hate your stinking guts. You make me vomit. You're scum between my toes! Love, Blair.” 

He glimpses her in the doorway a minute later, watching him rinse the plates and flatware. The instant he turns off the sink, she speaks:

“I thought that’s what you liked about me.” Her chin up, daring him to disagree with her. “That I’m a little bit cruel to you.”

He dries his hands with a chuckle, “I like you because you’re mean?”

“Well, yes.” 

Maybe so.

“Blair,” he sighs and doesn’t continue for a moment. Watches her eyes get wide and glassy, expecting something from him that she isn’t going to like. Or will like too much. “I enjoy your sharp wit. Your intelligence. I admire your passion, and the force of your will. Usually you only employ those qualities to insult me, or to wreak some kind of havoc, but,” he trails off again with a shrug. 

“Oh,” she exclaims softly. Sets the bowl she’d been clutching down on the kitchen island between them with a pronounced clang, clearly at a loss for words.

“So,” he goads, “is there anything that you like about me?”

“You have,” a swallow, and, “qualities.”

“Great, thanks.” 

He wouldn’t describe himself as storming from the room, but he does leave it, and her within. Sulks in the guest bedroom he’d claimed as his own. It becomes a nap quickly after he closes his eyes for more than a blink. When he opens them again, it’s nearly dusk. 

He finds Blair in the den, fire going strong in the fireplace and _Le Bonheur_ on the television. 

She watches him enter the room from her place curled up on the loveseat, stockinged feet curled under a pillow for more warmth. Greets, voice cracking, “Hi.”

“Can I join you?”

“I don’t know,” a sharp smirk lights up her face the way a genuine grin would, “can you?”

Such a schoolteacher joke. One he would make. Has made. He sits in the empty space to her right on the couch, and lets her move to wedge her toes between his leg and the cushion. Gives the film as much distracted attention as he can. Presses his palm to the swell of her calf while adjusting his sitting position and when she doesn’t kick it off, leaves it there. Traces the ribbed pattern of her tights with his thumb.

“Do you want some wine?” she voices abruptly, half-standing, not bothering to pause the scene.

“Sure—” he is barely able to speak before she kisses him silent. 

Her left foot on the floor, right knee dug into the couch near his thigh, and both hands clutching the collar of his flannel shirt, she kisses him chaste but firm. Pulls him to her and presses him back into the corner of the couch at the same time, dizzying.

“Blair—” 

His mouth opening against hers only invites her to do the same, tongue darting in to touch his. He sucks in her air and reaches up to touch her. Slides a hand up the line of her jaw, thumb on her cheek and fingertips threading into the hair near the nape of her neck. Feels dizzy with want, feels—

“Blair.” Both hands on the front of her shoulders, he holds her still over his body. “I have to tell you something.”

She shakes her head, but doesn’t struggle against him. Grips his elbows. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

He tries to make the words clear and deliberate, “I am the reason Louis didn’t take you to that speech.”

Confusion flickers across her features. “I don’t understand.”

“He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t putting his family over you. He was trying to help me—really he was trying to help you.” Still, she doesn’t pull away from him; it clouds his thoughts. Dan closes his eyes and takes a breath before continuing, “Something I’d written was set to be published, and I practically begged him to find a way to keep that from happening. And it seems like he succeeded.”

She pinpoints the hole in his confession easily, “What does that have to do with me?”

“It was about you.”

Turning her face away, “Oh.”

“I kept telling myself that it wasn’t a lie. And that you had other reasons for running—”

She interrupts, attention back on him again, “You paint yourself as such a saint, but you’re just as selfish and manipulative as the rest of us—”

Her eyes are dark. 

“I didn’t—”

“I hate that about you. I really do.” She strains against his hold, but to lean forward instead of off his lap. Says into the shell of his ear, “But I like that you couldn’t sleep with me before telling me the truth. That quality, I’ve always liked.” 

Her meaning sends a shiver through him. She sucks at his earlobe, the edges of her teeth present but not biting into the delicate skin. Travels her mouth down the curved side of his neck, then up to his Adam's apple, his jawline, his lips open and ready for her. Their lower bodies reposition until his left leg runs up between hers, her hips grinding against him. 

He doesn’t tell her that he’s in love with her. 

Peels off her sweater, thumbs open the front clasp of her bra, and gets her on her back on the couch—the straps of the bra still caught around her upper arms. Her legs spread, hooked around his hips, he works his way down her body. Tongues the swell of her breasts and the pebbled circle of a nipple. Digs his hands under her skirt to touch her cunt through the thick fabric of her tights. She gasps, so he presses harder, the whole length of his fingers tracing the line of her heat. Strokes up and down until she is panting and struggling to reach the buttons of his shirt. Only gets halfway through before she tugs it off over his head, his undershirt with it.

The pads of his fingers sense a small rip in the middle seam; he teases it with his index finger. Widens it enough to penetrate the layer. Feels the wetness gathering in the scrap of underwear between her legs and groans.

“Dan—” she digs both hands into his hair and shoves his head downward, “use your tongue—god—”

He’s fine with taking her orders. Bends his body to duck his head under her skirt. Buries his face against her center, tongue at the rip, pushing through to taste silk saturated with the musky favor of her juices. Swears he can smell blueberries.

“Rip—” she begs at the same time he is tearing open the tights fully. She twists and thrusts her body up against him, yanking her skirt up and off over her head. Watches him with hooded eyes as he twists her panties to tease her clit. “Down—” he bends his head back down, finally pulling the fabric completely aside to flick his tongue against her clit.

She comes abruptly. Her hips jerk against his face and she cries out.

When he grins up at her, she is not complimentary: “Don’t read into it. I orgasm easily.”

Temple resting against her inner thigh, he implores, “What do you want?”

“Don’t make me ask you to fuck me.”

He touches the still slick folds of her vagina lightly, watches her twitch and shake with want for more. Says, “Would you beg me?”

Her expression flashes with surprise and delight. “I never believed it when Serena said—”

“Let’s not talk about our exes, okay?”

“You’re right.” She jumps up to work open his jeans, getting him into a seated position with his back against an arm rest before sinking into a straddle over his lap. Keeps an arm between them to shove down his boxers and stroke his cock with a firm hand. “You’re sometimes very right, Dan.”

He joins her hand with his own and guides the head of his dick to rub at her clit. She cants her hips until he’s poised at her entrance and thrusts down around him with a strangled moan. 

He bites his lip and throws his head back—can barely take how good she feels. How immediate. How he’d never truly believed this could happen. Still feels fuzzy and shaken up as it is, as if drunk. As if he was still sleeping.

She pistons above him with her knees bracing around his hips on the couch. Grabs onto him by the shoulders for leverage, thumbs digging into the upper crease of his collar bones. The pressure is painful but it only makes the intense pleasure of their coupling more clear. It rings through him. Can already feel his lower body tensing, on the precipice of release.

He tries to touch her clit but she swats him aside. Teases, “Want to see how fast I can make you come?” Sweat glistens on her body as she bounces atop him even though the fire in the fireplace is almost out. “Because I do.” Crushing her chest to his, she sighs against his jaw, a flutter of eyelashes on his cheek, “Dan, I really do.” 

He doesn’t deny her.

After, still slumped together on the couch, he realizes, “Oh god.” 

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him, “Hmm?” 

“We didn’t use a condom.”

She pulls away, their skin sticking together with sweat as she does. He feels her absence acutely as she stands and dresses with purpose, the sweater then the skirt. “It’s fine,” she finally responds. “I’m already pregnant.” 

“What?” he blurts out in shock, chest tightening.

She regards him for a long moment. “You heard me.” Stoops to pick up her underwear and the ruined tights.

He has many questions, but only gives credence to one: “Are you okay?”

“I have an appointment at a clinic here tomorrow.” Then, “I don’t want to be with Louis. And I don’t want to have a child. Not right now.”

“What do you want?”

It’s a selfish question. He is a selfish person.

She smiles.


End file.
